


Ask and It Shall Be Given You

by imonlyobsessed



Series: Pearls and Gifts [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Crack, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, OOC behavior, Porn With Plot, Season/Series 05, Sex Is Fun, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3988093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imonlyobsessed/pseuds/imonlyobsessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean could be comfortable pretty much anywhere with almost anything.  Sam didn't know why he had hoped something as simple as an apron could throw him.  He'd hoped it would at least hinder him a little.<br/>"You're awfully comfortable wearing that thing, Dean.  Something you haven't told me?"<br/>"Are you kidding?  Chicks dig those sensitive, Mr. Mom types.  Besides, I'm hot no matter what I wear."  Dean thought for a moment before adding, "Or don't."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ask and It Shall Be Given You

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to not lose my fics to a fritzing computer. Written and set sometime during season 5. Complete and utter crack. With porn.

The promise of good food inspired Sam to finish cleaning in record time. Even all the laundry had been done and was now upstairs in their room waiting to be bagged. With a smirk, Sam turned the kitchen and apron over to Dean. It only took a couple trips across the kitchen to realize that if he wanted dinner, Dean couldn't wear Sam's apron. What was knee-length on Sam was almost ankle length on Dean and kept wrapping around his legs as he walked. Sam wordlessly handed Dean Bobby's apron instead.

"Not one word, bitch."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Sam turned his back on Dean and clapped a hand over his mouth to stop the laughter.  
"Do you want the fucking meatloaf or not?"

Sam nodded, still not trusting his voice.

"Then you need to stop."

He nodded again and went to sit at the table with a beer. Dean watched him with a gimlet eye as Sam leaned back in his chair, sprawling his legs about and locking his fingers behind his head.

"What? I'm not stopping you." The smile was still in his voice, but at least he wasn't laughing. Dean glared a moment longer before his eyes dropped and a satisfied smile spread across his face. If Sam had been a girl, he would have sworn Dean was staring at his tits. Nice as his chest was, he didn't think it was what Dean was staring at. He almost asked, the "What?" on the tip of his tongue when he remembered. He was portraying a relaxed, red-blooded, American male in his ripped jeans and flannel shirt, but there was one important _accessory_ ruining the effect. He'd forgotten about the damned pearls. Deflating, he dropped his arms across his chest and leaned his head forward, trying to make the necklace less noticeable. Dean positively cackled when he saw Sam trying to hide. Stalemate broken, Dean turned and slipped Bobby's apron over his head and tied the strings without breaking stride. Figured. Dean could be comfortable pretty much anywhere with almost anything. Sam didn't know why he had hoped something as simple as an apron could throw him. He'd hoped it would at least hinder him a little.

"You're awfully comfortable wearing that thing, Dean. Something you haven't told me?"

"Are you kidding? Chicks dig those sensitive, Mr. Mom types. Besides, I'm hot no matter what I wear." Dean thought for a moment before adding, "Or don't."

Sam choked on his beer, somehow managing not to spray. Dean flashed him a grin and turned back to his cooking. Sam shook his head and watched Dean gather ingredients from all over the kitchen and put them on the counter. The worst part was? Dean wasn't wrong. He'd had just enough sun the last few days that he was getting a soft gold tinge and his freckles were starting to stand out a little. The added colors made his eyes seem even greener, changing them from their normal jade down to a darker emerald. By all rights, Dean should have looked ridiculous; barefoot, in a borrowed apron, wearing some of his oldest clothes. Instead, he padded around the kitchen, confident, comfortable in his skin. His t-shirt was a faded OD green, fitting a little snug through the shoulders. His jeans had been washed so many times there were almost white, and Sam knew from folding them so often that they were soft. So soft they didn't even feel like denim anymore. Both knees were completely blown out, huge holes giving glimpses of muscular thighs and strong calves as he walked. When Dean turned his back completely to search through the cupboards, Sam noticed white frays at the edges of his back pockets. Before long those would be holes too and not just soft spots. Yeah, ‘ridiculous’ wasn't how Dean looked.

"Dude, this has to be your fault."

Sam's eyes snapped upwards. He realized that Dean was on his toes, fingers brushing a large mixing bowl at the back of the top shelf. Trying to keep the smirking to a minimum (and failing miserably) he walked up behind Dean and reached over him to grab it. Sam held the bowl above Dean's head just long enough to earn a glare before bringing it down in front of him.

"There you go, short-shit."

"Wouldn't be a problem if your Gigantor ass hadn't put it where no one else could reach it." Dean half-turned and shouldered Sam out of his impressive looming. "Besides, you may be taller but I'll always be older."

Sam quirked his eyebrows at Dean, "Yeah, that was great when we were kids, but you do know that _now_ all that means is you'll be decrepit years before me, right?"

"...Shut up."

Dean dumped the hamburger into the bowl and started throwing in spices. See _this_ was why Sam had been willing to wear the necklace. Near as he could tell, Bobby didn't own a cookbook and he knew they never had. But somewhere along the way, Dean had learned how to make a meatloaf. Not just learned, but memorized a recipe, because it came out the same almost every time. Dean didn't even look at the stuff he was throwing in the bowl. It made Sam wonder if maybe that's what Dean would have done in a different life. Sam had always assumed that he would have been in their father's garage; covered in grease, carefully fixing and maintaining dying cars. Bitching every night about how people wouldn't do something as simple as keeping the oil changed. But Dean had pretty much taken over all the cooking when he was nine. Actually, Sam couldn't remember ever seeing their father cook another meal from the first time Dean made dinner. It was later, when Dean started hunting with their father that their diet started consisting of diner and junk food. But once in a while, Sam would come home from school or back from a day of research and find as good a meal as a motel kitchenette could make. Dean could bitch if he wanted, but Sam knew he enjoyed it. Then again, in another life, they wouldn’t still be together either. Normal people don’t live in each other’s hip-pocket all their lives.

Normal people don’t catch themselves staring at their brother’s ass either. Not that it meant anything. He certainly wasn’t attracted to his brother, no matter what lies his half-hard cock told. Brother thing aside, they were not gay. Not even a little. So what if, on rare occasions (after a bad hunt or a good one, one of them almost dies, one of them _does_ die, or they’ve had too much to drink) Dean manages to slip, trip and land on Sam’s dick; well, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a reaction to too much stress, too much adrenaline and all that tension has to go somewhere, right? Right? Besides, Sam is pretty sure that the only people who don’t want to fuck his brother are eunuchs. So whatever, not gay. And not thinking that Dean bent over and putting the meatloaf in the oven looks utterly fuckable. Nope, not thinking that at all. Even though, bent over, Dean’s ass, firm and curved, nicely filled out that suede-soft denim. And his naturally bowed legs kept him spread open and in just the right position that Sam could probably sidle up behind him and just slip right in to that tight, tight heat—

Ok, so maybe he was attracted to his brother. Just a little.

“So, how long is this going to take?” he asked as Dean rooted around in the silverware drawer.

“Well, the potatoes should be done about the same time as the meatloaf. If I can find a non-ceremonial knife. And about fifteen minutes after that to make gravy and heat the vegetables. About an hour and twenty minutes. Aha!” Dean pulled a knife out and turned to the lumpy brown pile next to the sink. An hour and a half? Sam’s stomach growled in protest. Loudly.

“Dude, if you even think about snacking between now and then, I will stab you.” Dean didn’t even look up when he said it. He quickly skinned and diced the vegetables, handling the blade with the kind of comfort and efficiency of someone who had their first knife before they lost their first tooth. Sam had seen Dean take out nightmares with his boot-knife, something as simple as dinner didn’t stand a chance. In no time at all the pile of potatoes disappeared into a waiting pot of water that Dean transferred to the stove. Sam did have to stamp down the flare of worry when Dean lit the burner. He knew that the pilot lights were out, but Dean always had enjoyed fire just a little too much.

“Ok, so now we’ve got just a little over an hour to wait.” Dean tossed over his shoulder as he was putting the spices and eggs away. “You know, I could step out of the way and let you get started on the cleanup.” He smirked before turning his back to Sam and stacking his dishes on the counter, missing Sam coming up behind him. “You could be a good wife, have the dishes done before dinner, no problem.” Dean chuckled softly at his own joke as he washed his hands.

 

For some reason, to Sam, it seemed like the best idea in the world to untie the back of Dean’s apron and jerk Dean roughly back against him by the ties. Dean grunted in surprise at the contact and went still. Sam’s hands slipped under the apron, fingers curving perfectly into the dips of his hipbones and held him still.

“What are you doing?” Dean’s voice was mostly calm, bored even, only the slightest breathlessness betraying him.

“Thinking of a better way to spend the next hour. Dishes will wait.” Sam murmured as he leaned down to graze Dean’s throat with his teeth. Sam couldn’t help but smile into Dean’s skin when he felt a tell-tale tremor prickle through his body.

“Dude, what the fuck? We don’t do this.”

“Really?” Dean could practically see the incredulous look on Sam’s’ face. “What was the other night, then? Are you gonna tell me I dreamed it? That I imagined the way you begged me to fuck you? You beg so pretty, by the way. Or that those breathy little moans you make when you start getting close were all in my head? Must have been a pretty vivid dream then. You know, since you still have my bite marks on your chest.”

A soft whine escaped Dean’s throat and he leaned back into Sam.

“No, you asshole. I meant that we don’t just DO this with each other. Like it’s ok, or something. The other night was different. Adrenaline thing or whatever. And, we were drunk.”

“So, you’re saying, what? You have to borrow some courage from Jose before you can give it up to your little brother?” Sam slid his right hand down and gripped Dean tightly through his jeans. He felt Dean go from half-hard to rock-solid in his grip. Growling, Sam bit the side of Dean’s neck, his pulse racing to match the pounding against his tongue. He let go quickly, licking over the spot to sooth the hurt. He knew better than to make any visible marks, especially at Bobby’s house. God, that was a conversation he never wanted to have. With anybody. Ever. Then again, with as many layers as they both wore, that left a lot of skin to be marked to his heart’s content. His body flushed even thinking about it. Dean covered in bites and bruises for anyone to see, visibly belonging to Sam… So Sam was kind of possessive, this wasn’t news.

Dean was white-knuckling the edge of the sink and breathing hard but he hadn’t made any move to stop Sam or pull away. Encouraged, Sam popped the button on Dean’s jeans and rolled the zipper, the metallic rasp almost loud in the kitchen.

“Wait a minute, where’s Bobby? He can’t see this, Sam.”

Snorting, Sam reached past the waistband of Dean’s boxers, “You know as well as I do that he’s working on a car and if he’s under a hood, he isn’t coming in any time soon.” Dean’s knees wobbled when Sam wrapped a hand around his erection. Sam’s left hand still gripped his hip to keep him upright and flush against Sam’s front. Sam’s hand was dry and calloused and gripping him tightly as it slowly moved.

Dean’s head fell back on Sam’s shoulder, eyes closed and mouth slack with the first, rough drag across his dick. Arousal curled through his stomach, weakening his focus on anything but the feel of Sam. He couldn’t even drudge up any annoyance when Sam gave a self-satisfied laugh.

“I guess we could take this upstairs, if you’re that worried about it. Maybe put you on your knees and put that mouth of yours to better use.” Dean’s hips thrust forward into Sam’s hand, even as he tried to stop them. “Yeah. That’s about what I figured.” Smiling still, Sam let go and pulled away from his brother.

He heard a very low and heartfelt, “ _Goddamnit!_ ” from Dean.

He paused at the kitchen door, “You might want to take the apron off. I don’t want to explain any weird stains to Bobby.” Without looking back, Sam continued out the door and took off at a run, up the stairs to the room Bobby had cleared out for them stripping his shirt as he went. He could hear Dean rushing and cussing behind him. He wasn’t at all surprised when, as soon as he made it through their door, Dean crashed into him taking them both to the floor. Dean kicked backwards, slamming the door shut behind them.

“Fucking cocktease. I hope you didn’t think I was just gonna roll over and take that.”

“I wasn’t counting on it, no.” Sam grinned into the floorboards, wood rough against his cheek and dust tickling his nose as he felt Dean reach for his arms. He waited until he knew Dean was leaning over and rolled, toppling what little balance Dean had, and sending him falling to the side. Instead of trying to catch himself, like Sam had expected, Dean let himself fall, grabbed Sam and rolled with him. Sam was sprawled on top of Dean, just for a moment, then he found himself face first on the floor again, maybe four feet to the right of where they had started. Dean steadied himself, legs on either side of Sam’s, hips tight against Sam’s ass. He pushed down on Sam’s wrists, keeping those massive hands where they had landed, spread wide and not quiet even with Sam’s shoulders. Sam heard Dean’s chuckle as he ground the line of his cock down. “Sorry, little brother. Guess your ass is the one on the line this time.”

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s attempt at wit. Especially since Dean’s voice was as breathy as Sam felt. Sam spread his legs wider, bracing his knees against the oak and angling his hips back, just enough to settle Dean more firmly against him, slotting him on the cleft of Sam’s ass. He couldn’t stop the shudder that shot through him.

“Fuck.” Sam’s hips twitched without his permission and he could hear Dean’s breathing stutter with the exhalation.

“That’s your problem, Dean. You’re always too focused on my ass.” Sam used the leverage spreading his legs had given him and pushed, coming up to his hands and knees quickly. Startled, Dean slid off his back and hit the floor, losing his grip as he fell. Sam was already scrambling forward, getting his feet under him and moving while Dean reached wildly to grab him. The room wasn’t large and Sam crossed to the bed quickly, Dean directly behind him. Instead of darting to the side, or even going over the bed, like he knew Dean was expecting, he spun and caught Dean as he collided into Sam for the second time. They landed, half on the bed, and bounced. Dean tried to control the fall, but Sam had already wrapped around him and rolled them over the edge before Dean could stop it. They hit the floor hard, their combined weight driving Dean’s breath out in a surprised _oof_ when his back hit the hardwood. Sam used the force of the fall to drive Dean’s arms above his head, wrists together. Dean sucked in a huge breath and blinked up at Sam, who was grinning smugly. Still grinning, Sam thrust his hips forward, bringing Dean’s attention to how effectively he was pinned with Sam’s legs bracketing his. Sam hissed when he did it again, grinding their erections against each other, separated only by their jeans.

“Jesus, you’re hard. See? Too focused on my ass.” The words were growled out as Sam kept rocking against Dean. The friction was setting off little explosions through Sam’s nerves, just this side of too rough, too dry, but nowhere near enough. Dean gave a half-hearted shove against Sam’s grip, more like a token protest. A growl rumbled through Sam’s chest that was half amused, half annoyed and all possession as he leaned forward, pushing Dean’s wrists harder into the wood grain. Dean bucked, his whole body behind the force, grinding his cock against Sam as hard as he could, mindlessly whining for more. Sam froze, everything in his body lighting up at once. Slowly, he leaned forward putting more force on Dean’s captured wrists and watched as Dean’s breathing became more erratic and he thrust upwards again. Sam’s heart went double time, thundering in his ears.

“Looks like someone’s got a kink. Something you wanna share with the class?” Sam lowered himself, lips dragging across Dean’s jaw and whispering into Dean’s ears, never stopping the rhythm of his hips. “You like that? That I can take you on and win? That I can hold you down and force you to take whatever I want to give you and know that you can’t stop me?”

 _“Sammy…”_ And Jesus, Dean sounded _wrecked_.

The sound shot straight through Sam, a snarl curling his lips as the most primitive growl he’d ever heard crawled out of his chest. Huh. Apparently he liked that Dean liked it. And he had to feel Dean under him, skin to skin. He shifted both of Dean’s wrists to his left hand and reached between them. He reopened Dean’s jeans and awkwardly shoved the damp and sticky cotton down, one side at a time, until Dean could kick them off. Impatient, he opened his own jeans and pushed them down only enough to free himself. Dean spread wide and let Sam settle against him, trapping their erections between their bodies. That keening sound was back as they thrust, dicks dragging sticky across each other, Sam rutting hard against the cut of Dean’s abs. Quickly, Sam shoved Dean’s shirt up and out of the way, letting him drag across Dean’s sweat slicked body. It was better and worse being pressed together, slick and hard but not enough friction. Sam attacked Dean, violently biting at his lips and forcing Dean’s mouth open with his tongue until Dean gave in and just opened for him, tasting of coffee and salt and _Dean_. The power Dean was letting him have left Sam lightheaded, blood rushing through his body trying to be everywhere at once. His mind slipped sideways, a little overwhelmed; feeling Dean against him, the space between their bodies getting more and more slippery with sweat and precome, the taste of his brother heavy in his mouth, arousal hot and sparking, flashes jolting up his spine. He drew back, need for air finally overriding the pleasure of it all. Dean’s eyes were shiny and glazed, his lips were swollen pink and glistening with spit.

“Fuck, I want inside you.” Dean’s hips jerked up against him, eyes falling shut and a quiet whimper hissing out of his throat. Sam didn’t think Dean was aware he’d spread his legs even wider. Sam put two fingers against Dean’s lips, “Come on, open for me.”

Suddenly they were enclosed in wet heat, Dean’s tongue curling around and between them, soaking his skin. Patience fraying, Sam jerked his hand back and reached between his brother’s legs. Without pausing, he shoved both fingers into Dean.

“FUCKINGHELL!” Dean jumped at the sudden invasion, more because he was startled than any actual pain and Sam knew it.

Sam’s lips crashed against him again, trying to distract Dean as he quickly moved his hand; in and out, fingers scissoring, opening and stretching Dean as quickly as possible. As soon as his hand could move without much resistance Sam sat up, finally letting go of Dean’s bruised wrists and gripping his hip instead. Dean arched his back, rocking down on Sam’s hand. The pleading sound he made when Sam pulled his fingers out completely turned into a mildly disgusted whine when Sam spit on his own hand.

“Fuckin unhygienic.”

“My hand is in your ass, nothing about this is hygienic.” Sam only glanced at Dean as he worked three fingers into his brother’s opening.

“You know what I meant. Oh _fuck_ -“Dean broke off when Sam rubbed his fingers over that place inside him that shut down every other thought.

“You talk too fucking much.” Sam kept rubbing over that spot, watching almost hungrily as his brother came apart, babbling incoherently, thrusting up at nothing and rocking down hard. Sam’s skin felt too tight, and the need to feel Dean around him itched along every nerve. It didn’t take long for three fingers to be sliding just as easily as two.  
“Jesus, Dean.” Jerking his hand free, Sam scooted forward, positioning the slick head of his cock on edge of Dean’s entrance. “Is it enough? Tell me it’s enough.” Sam pushed forward without waiting for an answer, spit and precome just barely easing the way. Dean’s muscles were still clinging as Sam forced past the outer ring, barely making an inch in before he had to stop, the heat and the drag almost too much.

“Christ!” Dean’s hands scrambled at Sam’s hips trying to pull him deeper. “Come on, come on, come on! Fuck me already; don’t bitch out on me now!”

Sam let out another amused, annoyed huff and shoved forward, both hands tight on Dean’s hips to hold him in place.

“SHIT!” Dean almost jackknifed when Sam slammed home, bottoming out in one thrust. “Fuck me, not kill me!”

Sam chuckled darkly before he pulled halfway out and slammed back in making both of them moan and Dean to lift up, trying to meet his thrust.  
“God, you’re so fucking tight.” Sam was quickly losing himself to the feel of Dean around him, all _tighthotDeanfucklovewronggood_. Sam buried his face in Dean’s neck, taking in the scent of home to steady himself. Dean’s hips were rocking still, trying futilely to take Sam deeper. Sam ground his hips in when he realized what Dean was doing. He knew he couldn’t get any deeper, but GOD, he had to try. Sam mouthed his way along Dean’s neck and chest, nipping at the freckled skin with lips and teeth, tasting every inch. Pausing over the tattoo, Sam rolled his eyes upwards, gaze locking with Dean’s. His chuckle and quiet whisper were dark and absolutely dripped with filthy promise, “So much for me being the bitch, huh Baby?”

Dean’s jaw dropped. Still grinning, Sam bit down hard, filling his mouth with flesh and sucked the blood to the surface, sending an electrifying burst of pain through Dean’s mind. Whatever Dean had been about to say was lost as his breath burst out of him in a startled gasp.

Growling, Sam kept the pressure on Dean’s skin determined to leave a claiming mark and finally started to piston his hips. He opened his mouth with a wet _pop_ when the flesh under his tongue took on a vaguely coppery taste. Teeth prints ringed the edges of the flames and the whole tattoo was swollen and red, looking like it was hours old instead of years. Satisfied that the mark would last, Sam turned his attention back to fucking his brother into the floor, hips slamming forward and curving upwards as he pulled back to drag his dick across Dean’s prostate, before slamming deep into that tight heat again. He rode Dean hard and fast, reveling in the mewling, almost begging noises Dean was going to deny later. Dean’s babbling had started again, nonsense sounds punctuated with the occasional _fuck_ and _so good_ , and Sam’s favorite, _ogodogodSamlovethisloveyousomuchrightfuckingthere_. Quickly Sam felt his balls tighten and the heat in his body spike.

“Close, so close. Dean….” He started losing his rhythm as the white noise crested in his head, turning everything fuzzy. “M’gonna-” and then he was. Everything exploded behind his eyes, his head thrown back and a long moan escaping him as he shot deep inside his brothers body, come making Dean’s channel even hotter and wetter as Sam rode out his orgasm Dean was thrusting up to him stretching the feeling out and pulling on himself furiously, trying to follow Sam over the edge. That sight sent another rush through Sam, the idea of Dean coming while Sam was still inside him, clenching hard around Sam’s oversensitive dick-

Sam wrapped his hand over Dean’s and jerked with him, thumb swiping over the head on every up-stroke, twisting to hit the bundle of nerves just under the crown. “Come on, come for me Dean, I wanna feel it.”

Just a couple more pulls and Dean clenched viselike around Sam’s softening cock, and God that was so good it hurt. Dean’s face flushed scarlet as thick milky ropes splattered his chest and slicked both of their hands. Sam took over the pace, slowing down to long, wringing pulls, coaxing every drop out.

Eventually Dean’s entire body went lax. Sam took that as permission and flopped forward, sprawling across his brother, both of them gasping for breath as the sex high faded.

“Don’t – ever – call me – BABY – again.”

Sam just grinned.

“I’m seri- serious, Sam.”

Still grinning, Sam lightly bit a trail up Dean’s neck to his ear and rolled his hips gently, still buried inside Dean. While Dean shivered Sam whispered, as filthy as he could sound, “Don’t be like that, Baby.”

Dean groaned and shoved at Sam’s shoulder, “I hate you.”

Laughing openly, Sam rolled with the shove, pulling out less than gently in the process and making them both curse. He flopped on his back next to Dean, which put him facing the bedside table. How the hell had they managed to miss that? The alarm on the table top shone weakly in the semi-dusk of the room. “Dude, you have about five minutes before you have to get dressed and go finish dinner.”

“Your pillow talk sucks.” Dean pulled his shirt off and sat up, reaching for his pants and boxers. A strange look Sam didn’t understand crossed his face when he stood.

“What is it?” Sam was already sitting up, only just stopping himself from reaching out.

“I need to clean up. Fucking nasty. From now on, use a condom. It’s only polite.”

Sam caught the sheen of wetness on the backs of Dean’s thighs before he used his boxers to wipe it away. It took a second for the light bulb to go off. It was Sam’s come. Sam’s freaking _come_ , sliding down Dean’s thighs. That? Was too hot for words.

Suddenly Sam was standing in front of Dean jerking him forward and crashing their lips together. Dean made a noise of surprise but opened for him immediately, letting Sam lick into his mouth. Sam grabbed Dean’s ass with both hands and pulled closer, tighter against him. Reaching further, he slipped two fingers into Dean, groaning when they slid right into the heat of his brother, still open and wet and probably more than a little tender. Sam kept moving, fingering Dean in time with his tongue fucking in and out of Dean’s mouth. He hadn’t wanted to go a second round this badly, this quickly since he was sixteen. God, he wanted to be sixteen again. Then again, if Dean kept making those helpless noises and just taking everything Sam gave him, then for a little while, Sam might be. When he felt Dean’s dick twitch as hard as his own, he pulled out, hand going back gripping the meat of Dean’s ass.

Dean broke the kiss with a gasp, “Fuck! You teasing bitch!”

“Ok, first? Fuck condoms. I like this. Like feeling you fucked open and wet with my come when I’m done with you. Makes me wish I had a plug to fit you with so tonight, when you ride me, you’d be all ready and I could just shove you right down on my dick.” He manfully ignored the choked off, needy sound Dean made and continued. “Which leads me to number two, and this is the important one.” Sam bit Dean’s lower lip and tightened his grip, fingers digging deep into Dean’s flesh before he continued, “I think we’ve already established who the bitch of this relationship is, haven’t we? Now-” Sam landed a quick, stinging smack to Dean’s ass. Ignoring Dean’s indignant squawk, Sam stepped back. “Go finish my dinner, Bitch.”

Dean stood stock still for a moment, expressions passing over his face more quickly than Sam could read them, though he was pretty sure that lust and rage made a couple of appearances each.

Glancing at the clock, Dean’s shoulders slumped and he sighed. “I really fucking hate you. Really.” The patented Dean Winchester smirk, settled across his lips like a favorite coat and Dean slipped a finger under the strand of pearls that Sam had completely forgotten he was wearing. Slowly, he was pulled forward until he and Dean were mere centimeters apart. “Just wait. Your turn is coming. And I think the first thing I’m gonna do is teach you some manners.” His voice dropped and his breath ghosted over Sam’s lips, hot and moist and smelling vaguely of coffee. Sam’s eyes slipped closed. “You’ll learn to be a good boy. You’ll learn your place.”

“And where is that?” Sam barely breathed the words out, but Dean heard them anyway.

Sam didn’t so much hear Dean’s huff of a laugh as he felt the vibration of it on his mouth. Dean’s answer was quiet and breathy, his lips grazing Sam’s as he spoke, “Wherever I put you.”

Dropping the necklace, Dean turned and walked away leaving Sam shivering, lips tingling in anticipation of a kiss that was never coming. Still smiling, Dean slipped his jeans over his hips and grabbed his shirt as he walked out without another word. Sam stood there, brain short-circuited by Dean’s tactics as he listened to Dean go in and out of the bathroom before clattering down the stairs. The necklace was a burning weight around his throat, contrasting with the chills that were constantly skittering down his spine as the meaning of his brother’s promise sunk in, leaving him hard and wanting. And Dean was downstairs, making dinner. Just like Sam had told him to.

Fuck.

Ok, so point to Dean. A slow smile spread across Sam’s face. This? This was gonna be a lot of fun.

 

Later, when Sam made his way from the bathroom down the hall, he was greeted by the smell of meatloaf and gravy. His stomach gave a loud, protesting growl, tired of being ignored. He could hear Dean at the front door, yelling out to Bobby as he started down the hall. Dean reached the bottom step at the same time Sam hit the top. His brother smirked knowingly at the flush on Sam’s cheeks.

“Come on, Princess. Dinner’s done.” Dean sauntered away, lewd smirk still firmly in place. Sam took solace knowing that Dean’s sauntering was even more bowlegged than usual.

The table was already set with plates and silverware and the food was on the stove, buffet style. Fine with Sam, fewer dishes to clean. Which was good, because there was already a sizable pile of dishes in the sink and that damned apron was on the back of his chair.

“Relax, Francis. You can eat first.” Sam gave that comment the look it deserved and began making his plate. He was just sitting down when Bobby rolled in, stomach growling loud enough for Sam to hear. Quickly, the three men were settled in with what was probably the best meal any of them had had in weeks. Hot meatloaf, mashed potatoes and pan gravy and steamed green beans. All of it as near to perfect as they could get. Dinner was mostly silent, broken occasionally by the scrape of a fork, or some short lived car talk between Dean and Bobby. It was a silent agreement not to talk business over the dinner, all of them more than happy to ignore the giant, apocalypse shaped elephant in the room. Even for that, this was their version of normal and they were comfortable with it. Well, mostly. Sam tried again to ignore the quirk of Dean’s lips when Sam would thoughtlessly fiddle with the damn pearls, trying to make them more comfortable. Which was stupid, because the necklace itself wasn’t actually causing him discomfort, what it meant to be wearing it was. He’d unconsciously play with it, which would catch Dean’s attention and make him smirk, which would annoy Sam more, which would make him play with the necklace…

Bobby had to have noticed them by now, but he opted not to say anything. Smart man. By the end of dinner, Sam knew he was a half-step away from a full pout. Eventually, Bobby picked up his plate and started to wheel away from the table.

“Don’t worry about that Bobby, Sam’ll get it.”

Both heads snapped up at Dean’s smile.

“What? Samantha here takes her duties as house bitch very seriously, don’tcha Sammy?”

Sighing heavily, for probably the fiftieth time that day, Sam collected all their plates and stacked them at the sink before packing away all the food. He’d just restacked the dishes to wash when Dean cleared his throat.

“What?”

“You forgetting something?”

Sam followed Dean’s eyes to the apron still hanging on the back of his chair. Bobby might possibly have been fighting down a smile when Sam literally growled at Dean and jerked the apron up. His voice was definitely amused when Sam went back to slamming dishes around.

“If I’d known having you two around would be so much like having a wife, I’d have taken you idjits in years ago.”

Sam’s eye twitched a little. This was Bobby. Bobby was old and cranky and in a wheelchair and they owed him. Bobby got to get away with a little more than most.

Dean snorted and Sam could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Cook like that on a regular basis? The way you both came in here growling and sniffing for food? It was like feeding a pack of wild dogs or maybe skin walkers, I almost reached for a silver knife. No thanks.”

Bobby snorted this time, “If you’d made that when you said you would then maybe we might notta been so starved.”

Sam stopped, dish halfway to the sink. He could FEEL Dean freeze behind him. Setting the plate down carefully, Sam turned off the water and turned around slowly.

“What was that?”

Bobby lifted an eyebrow, looking back and forth between the boys. “Dean said he wanted a meatloaf and got the stuff to make it when he went to town the other day. Said he was gonna make it that night but he got distracted.”

“Traitor.” Dean’s voice turned Sam’s attention back to him. He gave Sam a watery version of his usual smile at least having the grace to look a little abashed. The smile started to slip as Sam reached back to untie the apron. “Well, you still got to eat it and you were house bitch today anyway, so the dishes would still have been your job. Think of it as a bonus.” He eyed Sam warily as Sam slipped the apron over his head and laid it on the counter, never looking away from Dean. “Look at it this way, I still gave you a gift and at least you looked pretty while you were cleaning and-”

“Dean?”

“…Yeah, Bobby?”

“Run.”

Dean’s sense of self-preservation had him down the hall and out the front door before his mind had even finished processing the word. Sam nearly took the screen door off its hinges as he tore after his brother. “YOU SONOFABITCH, GET BACK HERE!”

 

Bobby sat in the kitchen with a stack of dishes, smiling to himself as Dean’s laughter echoed through the salvage yard.


End file.
